


DefCon Err

by FlutterFyre



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: BAMF!Q, Geeks in peril, M/M, Pre-Relationship, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 02:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7826041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutterFyre/pseuds/FlutterFyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The MI6 Quartermaster and a Double O Agent walk into a techie convention in Vegas... </p><p>Nothing to see here.  </p><p>Move along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Looking out over the room of cyber-security experts, Q’s inner geek gave a mental squeal of delight. A squeal that just might have been the slightest bit audible outside of Q’s head, given how James ‘007’ Bond went instantly still next to him. Q glanced sheepishly at the agent who somehow managed to look alert and bored, relaxed and predatory, all at the same time.

Granted this was hardly Bond’s environment and his mission this week was simple — keep the MI6 Quartermaster out of trouble. Q was certain that Bond viewed this assignment as no challenge at all, but that just meant he had no clue the amount of trouble a technologically savvy genius could get into in a hotel packed with hackers and other experts from both sides of the cyber security world.

Then again, that sort of trouble was hardly the type a Double O agent would need to defend Q against. If anything, it was the rest of the world that would need defence. Q took a deep breath and grinned with delight. _This was going to be brilliant!_

“Tell you what, Bond. You’ve delivered me safely to the Mandalay Bay. We know the suite is secure. Why don’t you go play cards in the casino or something? I’ll be…around.” Q waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the conference attendees-only area of the hotel. There were two things Q was hoping to accomplish with the suggestion: one, free Bond from the utter boredom of babysitting a boffin and; two, give himself some space to meet and mingle with fellow geeks. He was looking forward to striking up some technologically brilliant face-to-face conversations with some of the top minds in the world while at this conference and Bond’s intimidating presence would only hamper such efforts.

When silence met his suggestion, Q turned fully to look at Bond. Bond met his gaze steadily and even arched a disbelieving eyebrow. Clearly he took his assignment, potential tedious nightmare it may be, with utmost seriousness.

“Seriously, Bond? It’s an entire hotel full of geeks. What’s the worst that can happen?”

A second eyebrow joined the first.

Q took a deep breath and held it. Maybe if he held it long enough he’d calm down. Or pass out. Either would be an improvement at this point. He closed his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts. When he opened them, Bond was still standing there, staring at Q dispassionately.

He hardly knew Bond beyond providing the agent’s mission kits and mission support over comms, but it was clear to both of them that this assignment was an insult to a man of Bond’s skill and experience. Q could hardly believe Bond was not taking advantage of the opportunity to drink, gamble, and most of all, flirt in Las Vegas. As Q had born witness more than once, that generally _was_ what the agent did on assignment. At least when he wasn’t chasing a target or being chased. Bond needed to make himself scarce and let Q get his geek on. After all, Q hadn’t flown in a bloody plane for _ten_ hours only to be thwarted by a bloody, stubborn Double O!

Inspiration — or was it desperation? — struck and Q thought he might just have found a compromise. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a tiny case containing a matched set of privately linked earwigs he had grabbed on the off-chance they might be useful — he was the Quartermaster, after all, and it never hurt to be prepared for any eventuality.

Opening the case, he subtly offered it to Bond, much like a smoker would offer a cigarette — a valuable commodity to be shared with those deserving.

“A compromise. We’ll use earwigs to stay in touch. That way, you can monitor me and make sure I’m safe and I can geek out without you scaring away all the interesting conversationalists.”

Insult and satisfaction battled briefly on Bond’s face before impassivity returned. He looked like he might actually be considering Q’s offer.

“Do we have a deal, 007?”

“Deal. Provided…” Bond hesitated, as though trying to talk himself out of agreeing.

“Yes?” Q’s fingers were itching to grab an earwig and settle it in place in his ear so that he could join the techno-centric festivities below.

“Activate your tracker and synch it to my mobile. It does me no good to know you are in trouble if I’ve no clue where you are.”

“Agreed!” Q pulled his mobile out and brought up the app he’d developed to remotely access the subcutaneous tracking devices MI6 implanted in all executives and top agents to facilitate their location and extraction in case of emergency. With brisk taps and glides of his fingertips across the screen, he activated his tracker and transferred the GPS feed to Bond’s mobile.

Pocketing his mobile once more, Q flashed a relieved smile at Bond and turned to head down the staircase to the conference level.

“Q.” The commanding tone stopped Q instantly.

Q felt his hands clench involuntarily. _He was so close._ “Yes , 007?” He forced himself to glance at the agent.

Bond’s expression could only be described as constipated. He swallowed hard, jaw tight. “Be careful?”

“Certainly, 007. And good luck to you at the tables.”

~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

_Bloody buggering hell_. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This _couldn’t_ be happening. He was in the middle of a bleeding industry convention — an environment that practically screamed white collar, generic corporate culture. Then again, he supposed it might have been those last two words that doomed him to this.

The early afternoon session on identifying security flaws in everything from medical equipment to televisions to cars had barely begun when the doors to the service hallways opened and people in hotel uniforms rushed in brandishing… were those firearms? Bloody hell, what was it with Americans and guns?

He should have skipped this event and just focused on attending the original hackers’ convention later this week at the Bally’s and Paris Hotels. After all, the anti-establishment, counter culture approach taken at the other convention was much less likely to attract this sort of activity. Besides, the Wall of Sheep promised to be much more entertaining — and almost certainly less dangerous — than an unknown number of armed and quite probably unstable individuals.

Like many of his fellow conference goers, Q’s first response had been to access his mobile to text for help. Because when confronted by individuals dressed as hotel employees and waving what looked like authentic, automatic and semi-automatic firearms, that’s what you did, yeah? Text for help?

Q’s mobile buzzed a warning in his hand, silently indicating it could not access a network to send the text. He glanced at the display to find that not only was the phone not receiving a 3G or 4G LTE signal, but there did not seem to be any available wireless networks either, something Q knew could not possibly be the case. Not here. Not this event. Not with these attendees. That left only one possible explanation.

“Bugger it all. They’ve jammed the phones,” he growled under his breath, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Even so, his neighbour immediately to his left darted a startled glance at Q which he ignored. He had bigger fish to fry.

One of the intruders went to the front of the room while the remainder stationed themselves around the perimeter of the room, blocking the limited exits. The one at the front shoved the two presenters into the front row of attendees and waved the weapon randomly, risking an uncontrolled spray of bullets into the audience with just the slightest squeeze of his finger.

Throughout the room, other attendees were rapidly reaching the same unfortunate conclusions he had. Q could sense the growing anger and frustration sharply laced with fear and a hint of panic as murmurs grew increasingly louder.

Thankful he didn’t have to tap the earwig to activate it, Q crossed his fingers that the signal jammers were programmed specifically to phone and wi-fi frequencies and would not impact the customised MI6 earwigs.

“Bond.”

“Yes, Q.” The steady voice in his ear was more welcomed than Q had imagined possible and was a soothing balm for Q against the edge of panic spreading through the room like Nimda.

“I do hope you are not in the midst of a winning streak, because I’m officially ending it.” Q was trying to keep his voice calm and stress-free which was far from what he was feeling. He was also attempting to speak softly enough to not draw the attention of their apparent captors. In this he was aided by the growing roar as many attendees erupted into full blown panic.

“Talk to me.” Q recognised this tone from Bond – the agent was now in mission-mode, his attention one hundred percent focused on every word Q spoke. The shift calmed Q. Acting as Bond’s handler was familiar territory to both of them. Q’s unfortunate presence in the middle of the action was something new and different, but Q was doing his best not to fixate on that aspect of the situation. Bond was here and would get him out safely. Of course after this he was even less likely to leave Q’s side but at least Q would be alive to be annoyed by Bond’s constant shadowing.

The man in front of the room apparently sensed things were about to get out of hand with the attendees in a growing panic. Q watched as the apparent leader used one hand to upend the presenter table with a crash. “Shut up! Just shut up and stay seated and maybe no one with get hurt!” His voice was deep and carried surprisingly well throughout the room. He continued to wave the gun to emphasise his point and the restless attendees reluctantly settled down somewhat.

Modulating his voice to not carry much beyond where he sat, Q advised Bond of the situation. “At least six armed individuals dressed like hotel staff — appears to be two females and four males — just took control of the room. Each is carrying at least one firearm, some are visibly carrying two. It appears they know how to use them though I wouldn’t go so far as to say they are all professionals.”

“You’re being held hostage by six armed intruders after you sent me off to the casino.” Bond’s voice was tight with anger, though a thread of irony made Q aware that he wasn’t going to hear the end of this at any time in the foreseeable future.

“We, Bond. There are over a hundred attendees in here with me. The intruders entered through the service corridors just after this session started, so five minutes or so ago. Mobile and wi-fi signals are being thoroughly blocked, so the odds seem good you are the only person outside this room who is aware there’s a problem in here.”

There was a pause before Bond replied. “I have a strong mobile signal here in the lobby.”

Q didn’t know what to say to that. Not that he was surprised that Bond’s phone had a signal in the lobby rather that Bond had apparently be waiting for him _in the lobby_. He had honestly expected Bond to spend his time either in the casino or the bar. And while yes, he had wanted away from Bond’s frankly menacing presence, he had thought Bond would prefer to be anywhere but sitting through detailed technical presentations about the latest hacking or cyber security topics. Q didn’t know how to process Bond’s choice of waiting in the lobby, so he filed the information away to be considered later. When he wasn’t being held hostage with approximately a hundred odd random cyber security professionals.

Refocused on the situation at hand, Q evaluated options. It was a shame the audience was not filled with actual physical security experts. Everything would have been resolved rather quickly had that been the case. Then again, it was doubtful an attack like this would have happened at that sort of conference.

After a moment, he made up his mind and took a deep breath. “Bond, we need to somehow reset the balance in our favour. Contact MI6 and let them know what is going on. R or M or someone should let American authorities know what’s going on here. I know you’d probably prefer to storm in here and take care of things yourself, but don’t. While I do not doubt your skill and abilities, I don’t want to advertise our presence here. It would be…problematic.”

There was a long silence at the other end of the comm line before Bond all but growled, “Acknowledged.”

Bond would not be pleased to be told to sit tight and wait, especially when his charge was locked in a room with unknown and therefore unpredictable gunmen, but there were currently too many unknown variables. Until they had either more information or significant back up, it was the only real option. There were too many unarmed civilians, they were outgunned, and for once Q was limited to what he could see with his own two eyes from an admittedly poor vantage point near the back of the room.

Q had intentionally chosen a seat in the back row of chairs to avoid feeling trapped as the room filled up earlier. For all that he loved the experience of interacting with fellow software and systems geeks at conferences and conventions such as this, he despised the the sense of claustrophobia that came from sitting surrounded by a crowd of strangers. And just maybe he had handled a few too many missions where ease of egress had been key to his agents staying alive.

Regardless, his seat in the back of the room enabled Q to view the majority of the room without having to be too obvious in looking around. Hoping to sell his rationale for asking Bond to wait, Q proceeded to describe the situation around him: identifying the room; describing the layout, seating, and various entrances; enumerating the intruders; and ending with an overview of the audience around him.

“Looking around, the audience here is mostly your standard boffin types and largely freaking out. There are some overly calm people though — I’m guessing they are either affiliated with law enforcement, the military, or the ops-side of intelligence orgs. No idea if anyone in the audience is armed or not. This being America, who knows?

“To be honest, Bond, there are far too many unpredictable civilians in the middle of this mess. We can’t risk them getting caught in any cross-fire. I’ll just plan to keep my head down and wait this out.”

Bond may or may not have responded; Q had no idea as he was yanked out of his seat by a hand grasping the collar of his cardigan.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Q cursed and stumbled as he was half dragged up the centre aisle towards the leader at the front of the room.

A cold smile stretched the leader’s thin lips as he watched their approach. “What have we here?”

“Dunno, but he certainly was talking a blue streak to _some_ one,” Q’s captor explained.

“So, who were you talking to, hmm?” Despite the calmness of the question, the leader didn’t look like the patient type, but that really didn’t matter anymore. Knowing Bond, Q figured he had less than a minute before the Double O barged in; Walther blazing a trail of destruction.

Q turned and looked out at the audience who were watching with varying expressions of horrified fascination. Without raising his voice too much, he adopted the same tone he did when he expected obedience from a recalcitrant agent or some unfortunate Q Branch tech. “I would recommend that all of you be prepared to hit the floor.”

The impact of the backhand that hit his cheek made Q’s head snap to one side. Shifting his attention from their captors had been a calculated risk. One for which Q would pay as now the leader was definitely enraged. Q tasted blood from where the inside of his cheek had split as he ran his tongue over his teeth to check them.

There was a loud crash from the back of the room as one set of doors nearly flew off their hinges.

“Get down!” Q screamed to the room at large as he turned and flung himself at the armed man still standing behind him. He heard the scrape and crash of chairs and hoped that the attendees were indeed hitting the floor where they would hopefully be out of harm’s way. Rolling on the floor, trying to disarm the man he had tackled, Q was only distantly aware of the explosive sound of single gunshots, even though his brain automatically cataloged and counted the shots fired.

~~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

Q’s fists were clenching the lapels of a uniform coat as he repeatedly slammed the head and shoulders of the person lying halfway beneath him into the floor. A strong hand grasped his upper arm, stopping him. Turning, Q swung his other arm, fist clenched but not aimed. That hand was also captured and it took a moment for the thrumming of blood and the echo of gunshots to recede so that he could hear his name being spoken, low and urgent.

“Q!”

He peered up through his fringe to find Bond’s face looming far too close. Glancing down, he saw that the man who had dragged him up the aisle mere minutes before was terribly bloody and possibly unconscious, but more likely dead on the carpeted floor. He didn’t recall precisely how it had happened. His glasses had slid down his nose, so Q pushed them back up, straightening them without thinking about it.

It was hard to form a coherent thought, much less speak, so instead Q just looked back up at Bond, who shrugged.

“You were in immediate danger. I couldn’t wait. However, now we need to get out of here before the American authorities arrive.” Not letting go, Bond instead tugged Q to his feet and started directing them towards the nearest exit, a door to the service hallways.

Q stumbled a couple of times before he steadied his feet under him. He pulled his arm free of Bond’s grip and followed the agent around upended chairs and past dazed attendees and the bodies of his former captors. His thoughts slowed and he automatically slid into Quartermaster mode. Trying to not think about what had just happened, what he had just done — possibly killed someone with his bare hands — Q focused on immediate mission needs.

“We need to get back to the suite so I can remove us from any surveillance footage.” Q wasn’t sure how difficult that might prove to be. He just knew it needed to be addressed before the police went to look at it and found a Double O agent brilliantly, if fatally, taking out several armed intruders in a room filled with conference attendees on the soil of an allied nation. Explanations likely would not be well received and M would not be amused. Q planned to erase the footage and let the blame fall squarely where it belonged. On the terrorists impersonating hotel employees.

Bond nodded and shifted his hand to rest at the small of Q’s back to guide him, silently urging him faster as they traversed the hotel service corridor. They emerged near the hotel lounge and a side entrance to the casino and paused briefly next to a large potted plant.

The near-deafening report from 007’s Walther being fired several times in quick succession had clearly be heard as hotel guests and staff alike were in a panic, scurrying about. People in security uniforms raced past towards the conference rooms. Police and first responders would be close behind.

His Walther concealed once more in its holster beneath his perfectly tailored jacket, Bond fastened the buttons and adjusted his cuffs. As usual, despite having been in battle, Bond looked like he had just stepped off the cover of some magazine. He gave Q a pointed glance and Q grimaced, certain he looked a sight. It wasn’t fair.

Not waiting for Q to straighten his appearance, Bond nudged him forward, herding him into the chaotic mass of people rushing every which way. Q bit back a grimace, knowing they needed to blend in and keep moving if they had any hope of avoiding detection.

Attempting to finger comb unruly strands into some semblance of order before giving up, Q tugged the hem of his lightweight cardigan in hopes of at least blending in with other conference attendees. It was August in Las Vegas, but the hotel’s air conditioning system was industrial strength and clearly going full blast to combat desert heat. As Q had had no plans to roam the streets, he had seen little need to alter his standard wardrobe. Looking down, he discovered small splatters of what looked to be blood across the front and sleeves. Closer examination of his hands showed similar stains, particularly on his knuckles and nail beds. Bile rose in his throat and he stopped walking to brace his hands against the wall, fighting the urge to vomit.

“Q, you can be sick in the room. For now we need to _move_.” Bond grabbed his shoulder once more, propelling him towards the door to the fire stairs.

Three flights up, Q was breathing too hard to be sick as they exited to the hallway and hit the button to call a lift, which upon arriving was blessedly empty. Five minutes later, they were in their suite and Q had his laptop out, determinedly hacking into the hotel security network. It was no surprise when the security protocols parted like wet tissue paper before his efforts.

Once inside the network, it took mere minutes to delete the security footage showing Bond racing along the main corridors from the lobby to the meeting room where Q had been held. There had been no cameras inside the room itself and Q could only hope that the attendees had been too shaken by events to pull out their mobiles and take photos or videos until after he and Bond had left. There was nothing Q could do about that regardless, so he backtracked through the hotel’s security systems, carefully erasing his tracks as he went.

Before exiting the system entirely, Q watched the current video feeds to get an idea what was happening downstairs. Both uniformed and plainclothes members of law enforcement were already swarming the conference and lobby levels. Views of the casino showed surprisingly few employees and no guests to speak of.

A quick glance via the external cameras showed a perimeter being established around the iconic hotel. If things continued to progress as he anticipated, police would shortly be going room to room, searching the hotel for any remaining miscreants affiliated with those Bond had subdued. To be honest, the police would undoubtedly be looking for Q and Bond as well as they had been the ones to end the brief stand-off. They needed a plan.

Once he was done with the real-time feeds, he logged off and closed the laptop. Q’s thoughts raced as he considered and discarded scenario after scenario, trying to determine what would come next. What did they need to do?

While it wouldn’t be surprising for the police to instigate a mass-evacuation of the building by activating the fire alarm, it was unlikely. Such a scenario would enable anyone associated with the violence downstairs to also exit and escape anonymously, vanishing into the streets of downtown Las Vegas. It was a shame, though, as that would have solved their immediate dilemma.

It seemed much more likely to Q that the police would be searching the hotel room by room, interviewing guests and looking for suspicious activity or individuals.

They either needed to leave immediately, which may well only cast suspicion on them, or they needed a damned good alibi. Q glanced down at his hands and clothes. First, though, he needed a shower.

Standing, he glanced at where Bond sat on the couch. A towel was spread over the coffee table and he was cleaning his Walther. Q shook his head. At least he now had proof Bond did more than just aim, fire, and then either lose or destroy his weapons.

Bond looked up, meeting Q’s arched eyebrow with a satisfied smirk that said he knew what Q was thinking. Q scowled in response and Bond’s expression returned to one of mission impassivity.

“I’ve altered the security footage and given the unobservant nature of most people unless they _know_ there is something they should be watching for, we _should_ be okay. We probably should have an alibi for when the police stop by though.”

Q crossed to the suite’s bathroom, fingers fumbling in his sudden haste to discard the bloodied clothes.

In his wake, Bond grunted what Q took to be agreement as Q shimmied out of his trousers and left them lying on the floor as he entered the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Fighting back the almost desperate desire to remain under the not-quite-scalding spray until either it turned cold or his skin shrivelled up and sloughed off, Q shampooed his hair and scrubbed his body using soap and a flannel until his skin felt raw. By the time he turned off the water and towelled dry, his normally pale skin was glowing a rosy pink from the combined heat and physical stimulation.

Q couldn’t stop himself from immediately donning his spectacles to re-examine his hands though. The bloody image of the man he had thrashed against the floor was going nowhere, even if the blood was gone from his skin. He wondered if it would make any difference if he knew whether the man was still alive?

A towel secured around his hips, Q opened the door that went directly into his bedroom. He needed the armour of fresh clothes before facing Bond again. However, not two feet into his bedroom, he stopped and stared at the bed in shock.

Bond — shirtless — was reclining in Q’s bed. He was propped with his back against the decorative but not-terribly-functional headboard, the duvet tucked over his lap. Q’s eyes tracked across Bond’s scarred but gorgeously muscled chest, his mind automatically mapping each scar back to the mission or situation that had left a mark on the Double O.

Inventory complete, his gaze slid down Bond’s abdomen, stopping at the edge of the blanket to wonder what, if anything, Bond had on beneath it. Heat flooded Q’s face and he furiously shoved the thought away. He pointedly ignored the tightening in his groin as both blood and heat pooled there.

“What are you doing?” Q felt his voice almost crack but somehow he stopped it and instead his words were clipped and his tone almost cold. He reminded himself that Bond was a notorious bed-hopper. Sex while on a mission was as natural as breathing. And likely as memorable for the agent. Q had unwillingly played the role of ‘aural voyeur’ more times than he liked to consider. Furthermore, it was a commonly acknowledged fact throughout MI6 that libidos generally flared hot following the massive injection of adrenaline that happened at a mission’s climax. While he didn’t doubt Bond’s partners greatly enjoyed themselves, Q had no interest in joining the legion. He absolutely did not appreciate Bond’s inappropriate antics, and now of all times! The man had entirely too much sex appeal and damned if he didn’t know it.

Fingers curled around the top of the towel that was self-anchored and protecting his modesty, Q waited for Bond’s explanation. Instead Bond raked his eyes from Q’s face, down his chest and abdomen to focus on where the towel hung low on his hips. Raising his eyes back to Q’s, Bond smirked.

Though initially caught off-guard by this turn-up, the arrogance in Bond’s expression and eyes sparked something furious deep inside of Q. He was so distracted by the pulse pounding in his ears that he almost missed Bond’s explanation.

“You did say we needed an alibi, Quartermaster.” The low teasing timbre of Bond’s voice combined with a slow sensual grin and challenging bright blue eyes was the final straw.

_Bugger all, anyway._ Q was so very tired of people — co-workers and agents in particular — underestimating him. He may work in an engineering lab, rather than the field, but he was still a highly skilled and very lethal agent of Her Majesty. So he looked younger than he was. And maybe his pale skin flushed easily, but he was hardly the blushing virgin everyone seemed to think!

Q didn’t give himself a chance for second-guesses; he’d bloody well show them all.

“So I did.”

He gave the towel a slight tug and felt it drop to the floor revealing the erection that had risen over the last few minutes. Crossing the room slowly enough to give Bond a good show, Q climbed onto the foot of the bed and crawled up Bond’s legs to straddle his lap. They were separated by the bedclothes and whatever Bond might or might not be wearing. Eyes on Bond’s face, Q had the satisfaction of watching Bond’s smug expression falter as he fought to hide his surprise at Q’s actions.

Walking his fingers up Bond’s stomach, Q tilted his head to one side and peered at Bond through his eyelashes and fringe. He bit his lower lip and then touched it with the tip of his tongue before he asked, “Was this what you had in mind?”

The brilliant blue of Bond’s eyes was almost entirely eclipsed by his blown pupils. Unbelievably fast, Bond’s hands reached and grabbed the back of Q’s head and neck and pulling their faces — their mouths — together so that Bond could taste and take.

And just like that the problem with Q’s plan to tease Bond and torment him for his arrogance — to make Bond pay — became as obvious as the differences between iOS and Windows. Bond knew how to _kiss_ and not just in a cool, calculating, I-see-your-bet-and-I-raise-you manner, but in a wonderfully filthy, I’m-going-to-fuck-you-into-next-week way.

Q could swear he felt his brains leak out his ears as tongues licked and slid and tasted and teeth nibbled and nipped. His fingers curled and he felt Bond twitch under him as his nails scraped over Bond’s chest, catching on his nipples.

Someone was moaning and Q realised it was he as Bond’s mouth left his and travelled over his jaw, laving open-mouth kisses down Q’s throat as he arched his back. Bond’s hand remained anchored to the nape of Q’s neck, forestalling easy retreat. Q could feel hard evidence of Bond’s undisguised interest through the duvet and his own cock responded to the teasing brush of Bond’s lightly furred stomach by leaving a damp trail of pre-ejaculate. Distantly he heard a pounding that did not seem to be originating inside his head this time.

Pounding.

Knocking.

Door knocking.

Door-to-door search.

Police.

Bugger.

~~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

Someone was knocking at the suite door; almost certainly the police. Q should answer the door — it was his suite after all — as odds were they’d just enter regardless. While being caught in flagrante delicto would cement their alibi, Q wasn’t that much of an exhibitionist and was absolutely not interested in putting on that sort of show. Besides, what the bloody hell had happened to his plan to tease and torture Bond?

Q opened his eyes as he scooted back, away from Bond’s wicked mouth and hands. He was gratified to see the agent looked every bit as dazed and confused as Q felt.

Recovering from a lust-induced stupor was at least as difficult as from one caused by adrenaline and fear. Maybe more so given that this time it wasn’t just his brain but his body that was affected. Speaking of, he forced himself to ignore his almost painful erection and climbed off the bed. He seemed to recall seeing oversized terrycloth robes hanging in the bathroom. Alibi or not, there was no way he was answering the door wrapped in a towel with a noticeable hard-on.

Q was tying the belt when he heard the door to the suite opening. Not wanting Bond to confront law enforcement officers with his Walther, Q stepped through the connecting door to the suite’s sitting room to meet two uniformed law enforcement officers and a timid middle-aged man who could only be a representative of hotel management.

“Can I be of assistance?” Q’s overly enunciated, public school words and posh voice held the affronted tone of one interrupted in the midst of something — or more apparently, someone — important. He knew the heavy makeout session in the other room with Bond had left him looking thoroughly debauched and he fully intended to use that to its fullest advantage.

“Oh, sir,” the hotel representative started and then stopped, clearly uncomfortable. “Please pardon us…uh.” Ears and face flushing almost fuschia, he fell silent, staring at the bedroom door as it opened.

Bond padded barefoot into the outer room of the suite. He was wearing trousers that were zipped though not buttoned and was still shirtless. His eyes were half-lidded and his short blond hair was mussed. All in all, he looked like he had just rolled out of bed. Or maybe just been rolled in bed. “Is everything okay out here, love?”

The roughness of his voice, combined with the endearment sent a shiver down Q’s spine. It must have been visible, because Bond crossed to him and pressed up behind him, wrapping Q in a hug that was casually affectionate. He kissed the side of Q’s neck and Q was momentarily distracted by the evidence of Bond’s continued arousal nudging his arse.

The hotel employee was looking all around the room, gaze never settling, just determined to focus anywhere but at the two of them. Meanwhile the younger officer, who looked to be in his twenties cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, upper lip curling with what appeared to be disgust as he watched them.

Shifting his gaze to the older of the two officers, Q waited for an explanation. Nonplussed by his and Bond’s states of undress and their apparent recent activities, she met his gaze calmly.

The consummate professional, her expression had not altered as her eyes swept the room, taking in Q’s discarded clothes on the floor. Q was grateful the blood splatters were not visible. Through the open door to the bedroom, the dishevelled bedding was obvious. She returned her focus to Q and Bond.

“Beg pardon, sirs, but there was an incident downstairs related to the hacker convention. While things are under control now, we are just performing a check on all the rooms to be certain the guests are safe and that everyone has been accounted for.”

“Incident?” Bond’s voice rose as though in alarm even as his arms tightened ever so slightly around Q’s waist. “What sort of incident? Is everyone okay? Do we need to leave?” He shifted as if to go get dressed.

“Sir…sir!” The female officer projected all of her authority into that one word, commanding both Bond and Q’s complete attention. “There’s no need to evacuate. Everything is under control. The hotel is secure. However activities and events associated with the conference have been cancelled for today while we complete our investigation.

“If I were you, I’d stay in to avoid the chaos and news reporters downstairs.” She smiled indulgently. “Perhaps order room service. Apologies for the intrusion.’’

Turning, she ushered her companions, both of whom seemed only too eager to leave, out of the suite. Bond released Q and followed them, throwing the privacy lock once they were out. The click of the lock engaging seemed to trigger a release of adrenaline and endorphins for a second time that afternoon as Q realised they had done it. Their alibi had worked.

In a burst of energy, Q started to gather up the clothes he had dropped earlier. Holding up the cardigan for inspection, he considered binning it, but it was one of his favourites and even if the stains wouldn’t come out, he hoped to salvage it somehow. His eyes narrowed at the visible splashes of scarlet. Closing them, he saw blood on the floor. Blood on his hands. Blood everywhere.

Shaking his head to chase the image away, Q shoved the soiled clothes into a plastic laundry bag and then into his suitcase; he’d worry about packing neatly later. He still needed to retrieve his trousers and pants and inspect his shoes to ensure they were clean, but it was a start. Indeed, Q was so distracted that Bond’s voice coming from immediately behind him caused him to jump.

“So, what was all that earlier?”

Q didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. He gave a broken laugh. “That was supposed to be me pushing your buttons for a change. Not that it worked.” He turned, looked Bond up and down, and gave a weak smile.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Bond’s voice dropped to a lower timbre and Q felt like the bottom had fallen out his stomach. “Your reaction to me in your bed was…unexpected, to say the least.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not some blushing virgin.” Wounded pride and irritation vied for precedence in Q’s voice.

“Obviously.” Bond’s hands brushed up Q’s forearms, fingertips barely touching the arm hair, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. It was terribly distracting and Q realised he was rapidly losing control of the encounter. If he’d ever even had it.

Q took an instinctive step back before stopping himself and trying to look stern. “I’m tired of being underestimated. I know what I want and I know how to make sure I get it.”

“That I do not doubt, Quartermaster. And let me assure you that I won’t be underestimating you again.” The look in Bond’s eyes was predatory. He took a step towards Q, and Q retreated another step. Bond stepped forward again. Soon Q found the wall at his back.

Bond slid into Q’s personal space but stopped just shy of their bodies actually touching. “See anything you like? Anything you…want?”

_Fuck yeah._ Bond may not have been on Q’s radar before today but that bit of snogging in the bedroom had more than earned him a place there. However.

Q licked his lips and tried to swallow against the sudden dryness in his mouth as Bond’s eyes followed the movements of his tongue.

“Bond—” Q winced when his voice cracked.

Smiling, Bond interrupted. “James,” he purred.

Q recognised this tone from Bond and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was the voice he had heard too many times on the other end of the comms. This was Bond’s bedroom voice. The recognition gave Q the ability to beat back his own desire and straighten his spine.

“Bond, I’m not a mark for you to seduce, nor am I some barfly pickup. I am your Quartermaster.”

What may have been hurt confusion flitted across Bond’s face and was gone. “I assure you, Q, I consider you neither a mark nor a pickup. And honestly, I don’t see what being Quartermaster has to do with anything. We are equals in almost every sense. And I believe our mutual interest has already been established.”

“And once we’ve fucked, are you still going to be willing to take direction from me without throwing even more arrogant nonsense in my face as I try to bring you back from the field alive?”

Q watched while Bond thought about that. Was gratified that Bond actually was thinking about it. Finally, Bond met his eyes, all traces of arrogance gone. All that was left was the naked want from earlier.

“They say, what happens in Vegas…”

~~~~~


	5. Chapter 5

_Oh, what the fuck._ Q leaned forward and covered Bond’s mouth with his, smothering the remainder of the trite and overused PR phrase.  
Bond’s response was immediate, stepping forward and trapping Q against the wall with a body that was solid muscle and sinew. Callused hands cradled Q’s face, fingers threading through and tangling in Q’s hair.

As Bond tilted Q’s head for better access, his teeth nipped at Q’s bottom lip before his tongue traced the seam of Q’s lips, licking his way inside Q’s mouth. Curious to experience Bond’s more dominant nature, Q whimpered softly and surrendered to both the moment and Bond.

Strong fingers clenched briefly in Q’s hair, sharply tugging the strands before they shifted, one moving to cup the back of Q’s head and the other to grip his chin. Allowing Bond to turn his head, Q relished the slight rasp of Bond’s barely there stubble against his jaw.

With Bond pressed against him from chest to crotch, Q couldn’t help but be aware that Bond’s interest hadn’t flagged. Bond nudged his knee between Q’s legs, shifting his hips forward, pushing the robe aside, and insinuating his thigh between Q’s. Bond bent his knee pressing into Q’s groin. The tease was intense and Q desperately resisted the urge to rut against Bond’s thigh. Even so, the slow drag of Bond’s Italian wool trousers over Q’s naked, engorged, and wildly sensitive cock and bollocks was maddening. When Bond pulled back ever so slightly, Q’s body seemed to chase after Bond’s heat.

Bond’s hands moved down, one pausing at Q’s throat thumb resting on a pulse point. The other continued further to pull open the wrapped closure of the robe, exposing Q’s lean muscled chest. Fingers fumbled momentarily at the slip knot at Q’s waist before the material fell fully open. Q shrugged and the robe slid from his shoulders to fall in a puddle around his ankles.

Despite the numerous jokes and quips he’d heard over a lifetime regarding his slender build, Q was not self-conscious about his body in the least. As a teenager in public school, he had been required to participate in some form of regimented physical activity and so he had started cross country running. It was a habit that persisted to this day. As a result, he presented a classic runner’s physique – lean, whipcord muscles stretched over his naturally slender frame.

Everyone thought he was weak and anaemic in typical boffin fashion, but if any of them should ever go running with him, they were in for a rude awakening. Q was actually rather proud of his endurance. And it translated phenomenally to the bedroom. As for the absence of muscled bulk, well that only improved upon his natural flexibility.

Consequently it was a combination of lust and anticipation rather than exertion or embarrassment that left Q breathless when he spoke.

“So tell me, Bond, what exactly do you want?” Q challenged, unwilling to be a doormat.

“You.” Bond’s response was succinct as his gaze travelled down Q’s nude body. The blue of his irises was barely visible for his dilated pupils.

“You have me,” Q pointed out, pleased that he was not the only one affected by their circumstances. “Now what are you going to do with me?”

“I’m going to take you apart and fuck you until your cultured voice is crying brokenly and your impressive brain is unable to form thoughts using words with more than two syllables.”

Q ran a suddenly dry tongue over equally dry lips. The thought of such an experience caused his breath to catch in this throat and his cock to twitch painfully. Even so, he was unable to resist baiting Bond further in hopes of making that fantasy a reality. “I’d like to see you try.”

Bond stepped back, apparently surprised by Q’s audacity. He stared directly at Q without blinking.

“Done.” Challenge accepted, hard satisfaction glinted in eyes that had somehow bled free of lust and instead reflected Bond’s usual amused arrogance. The abrupt change was startling and despite being hot with want, Q was curious and had to ask about the possibility of role-reversal later.

“And what if I want to fuck you instead?” He lowered his voice to a demanding purr.

And just that quickly power shifted to Q’s favor, as this time it was Bond’s breathing that hitched as his pupils blew open with arousal before the agent could consciously tamp it down. Huh. Apparently that option was on the table as well.

“Not now,” Bond growled, reasserting control over the situation. His eyes moved over Q’s naked body like a hungry wolf eyeing a particularly tasty looking morsel.

Q couldn’t contain a shiver in response, reaching for the partially open front of Bond’s trousers. He needed to feel the friction of the other man’s naked skin against his – hard cock against hard cock.

Capturing Q’s grasping hands, Bond pinned them against the wall on either side of Q’s head. He then leaned in and spoke next to Q’s ear in a voice that was low and menacing. “I don’t think so, Quartermaster. This happens how _I_ say.”

Q met Bond’s eyes for just an instant before acquiescing by looking down and nodding once. A quick glance up showed Bond’s smile, triumphant and feral. Instant _want_ throbbed through Q with unexpected intensity.

Going by the primal energy Bond was putting out and the possessive, dominant body language he was exhibiting, Q could almost believe this was more than just a convenient fuck in Vegas of all places. Almost. However, Q’s rational mind knew better, chanting loudly and repeatedly, _It’s just Vegas._

All thought stuttered to a halt as Bond’s teeth closed along his trapezius. Teeth teased while a warm wet tongue tasted and lips sealed against Q’s skin, applying just the perfect amount of suction. Q fought the desire to collapse like the victim of a Vulcan nerve pinch. Bloody hell, Bond knew what to do with his mouth. And didn’t that thought just launch a series of sinful images regarding Bond’s mouth and what it could (probably) do?

Just when Q was convinced he could stay vertical no longer, Bond finished sucking what was sure to be a hell of a mark into his shoulder before releasing the skin to ask, “Condoms and lube?”

In the timeless manner of lust-dazed genii everywhere, Q blinked slowly and responded, “Huh—wha?”

Bond smiled — very nearly smirked — and deliberately ran his hands down Q’s flanks. Perversely, the heat of his palms left a trail of gooseflesh in their wake as they slid around to cup Q’s arse and squeeze. Once he had Q’s undivided attention, Bond repeated, “Condoms? Lube?”

Q shook his head, trying to think. He’d brought condoms and lube with him — after all he was a geek, not a eunuch. He had planned on attending two hacker conferences — where else was a boffin likely to be found sexy and desirable? He hadn’t counted on picking anyone up, but if it happened, well, he was the Quartermaster after all. It would have been personally mortifying not to have been prepared with supplies.

“Shaving kit.”

The words had barely left his mouth when Bond was kissing him again — tongue licking and teasing, penetrating and retreating in what Q hoped was a preview of activities to come.

As Bond had released Q’s hands, and was otherwise occupied with kneading Q’s arse, Q wrapped his arms around Bond’s neck and kissed him with abandon. If this was really going to happen, it might well be Q’s one and only opportunity to shag the infamous 007 and Q intended to give it all he had. Even if Bond forgot all about it once they left Vegas, Q was looking forward to having the memory of a lifetime.

Pressing against Bond, Q rubbed sinuously against him, feeling like a cat trying to leave its scent to mark ownership, however temporary. Q was hardly virginal but his schedule at MI6 was decidedly not conducive to regularly seeking out shag partners, much less having any sort of relationship. Consequently he was constantly touch deprived and was exquisitely sensitive to the sensation of another person’s skin against his. The soft hairs of Bond’s chest and abdomen set off tiny thrills as they brushed against Q.

Firmly grasping Q’s arse, Bond hoisted Q up, bracing him against the wall. It didn’t take much encouragement for Q to wrap his legs around Bond’s waist, crossing his ankles at the small of Bond’s back. Meanwhile Bond’s mouth was leaving a trail of love-bites as he nipped, licked, and sucked his way down Q’s neck and shoulders and across his chest.

Fingers curled around Bond’s biceps, Q tightened the grip of his thighs at Bond’s hips and arched his back, offering himself to Bond, who accepted the offering with lips, teeth and tongue teasing Q’s surprisingly sensitive nipples.

He was momentarily disoriented when Bond started walking, carrying a distracted and very turned-on Quartermaster into the bedroom. With every step, Q’s cock shifted against Bond’s stomach, smearing more pre-ejaculate in its wake. When Bond passed the bed without pausing, Q whimpered, “Bond,” and tried to steer Bond towards the bed using his grip on Bond’s upper arms.

Bond covered Q’s mouth with his own, effectively silencing him and continued into the bathroom where he broke off kissing Q to say yet again, “Condoms. Lube.”

The proverbial light bulb went off and Q released Bond’s arms to snag his shaving kit off the counter and began rummaging through the contents. By the time Bond had returned them to the bed, Q had all but emptied the travel bag on the floor but had condoms and lube victoriously in hand.

Still holding Q, Bond started to crawl onto the bed when his mobile began and combined ringing and vibrating dance on the bedside table where it lay.

Both men had no sooner turned to glare at the offending piece of technology than the muted sound of Q’s phone sounded from the other room.

_Bloody hell._

~~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Neither beta-ed nor Brit-picked. Just an old tale from my [Tumblr](http://kissofflame.tumblr.com/) that I kept meaning to polish and post here, so if you think you've read this before, you probably have! *grins* 
> 
> Disclaimer: I have never been to the Mandalay Bay hotel in Vegas, so take my descriptions with a grain of desert sand...
> 
> Con-crit, kudos, and comments eagerly welcomed. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> ETA...There are multiple chapters but AO3 seems to have hidden the option to say 1/? _Grrrr!_


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